


Tragedy Brings No Reward

by The_Fanfic_Mormon



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Bloodbending (Avatar), Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Guilt, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Minor Violence, Moral Dilemmas, Sokka is Trying, War, slightly OOC katara, well slightly darker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29496174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fanfic_Mormon/pseuds/The_Fanfic_Mormon
Summary: A brief look into a world where the Water tribes, for better or worse, are doing much better in the war.This is a little experiment I wanted to try, setting up a change in Avatar canon then jumping forward to see how it might play out.
Relationships: Hama & Katara (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar)
Kudos: 7





	Tragedy Brings No Reward

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. It has been a while, to say the least. Regardless, I've really gotten into ATLA and LOK over the past five months. Finally, I've mustered up something I actually want to post. I plan to do a couple of these "ATLA gone wrong" sort of stories, so I'm experimenting both with format and with trying to get into these character's heads. I think the next one is gonna be a third person narrative stretched over a longer period, but I wanted to test out perspective pieces. I think I wrote Hama better than Sokka... oops.

Call it luck, call it skill. Hama doesn’t quite care, focusing more the overwhelming burst of sensations that assault her mind as she flings the steel door of her prison open. The moon sings to her, a serene tune that accompanies the surge of power that rushes through her veins. The grass tickles her bare feet, the night air heady in how fresh it feels. Best of all, there’s water _everywhere_.

It’s in the trees, the grass, the bushes… Tui and La, Hama can feel it in the _air_ , the condensation that clings to her. Her moment of freedom is interrupted by thud of footsteps. She turns, eyeing up the small cadre of firebenders that face her. The commander steps forward, a sneer her face.

“Didn’t make it to-” She’s cut off as Hama whirls an arm to the side, ripping the water from the grass below to slam her into the air. The other soldiers startle, some attempting to summon flame on instinct, but a twitch of her hand forces their arms to their sides.

“You monsters.” A laugh builds in her chest, one made of righteous fury. She looks each soldier in the eye, still giggling. “You saw fit to _rip_ me from my home, to horde me away in some cage.” The humor drains from her face, and she twists her fingers. She can feel the vessels burst in their body, their little hearts surge and explode, the shock hitting their face as death claims them in an instant. They stay upright for a couple seconds, corpses unware of their own passing, before collapsing to the ground.

Hama lets out a ragged breath. These techniques are still new to her, as skilled as she’s become these past few years. She inspects her handiwork, mesmerized for just a moment as the moonlight casts her shadow large and menacing. A flicker of doubt worms its way through her. Did she need to kill them? Could she not have frozen them where they stood, then made her escape?

But then the real world seeps in, and she hears the desperate chatter, cries for help, the clang of fists on metal. They imprisoned her, tore her away from her tribe, and reduced what was once a proud city to a pathetic huddle of igloos. The more she stands there, ruminating, the more the anger builds. In the building in front of her was the _lifeblood_ of the Southern Water Tribe. An entire culture caged and chained because some soot-spitters decided that they should run the world.

Slowly, the initial plan borne of desperation and instinct dies in her mind. Running away was a coward’s move. Hama has figured out how to control the very essence of life itself. She would _fight_ , and she would fight with such a cruel and determined strength that they’d fear her name, her _nation’s_ name, from Ba Sing Se to the Fire Islands.

She snorts, pulling water from the nearby trees into a ring around her. Then she goes to free her people. Today, she thinks, is the day this damned war starts going right for once.

* * *

There is consolation in seeing blood, Sokka thinks. The firebender keels over, eyes bulging, as a torrent of red leaks from his throat. They all bleed the same color, no matter the Fire Nation’s claimed superiority.

Such philosophical streams of thought aren’t uncommon in battle, a detached narration that allows him absolute focus. He ducks a blast of fire, lunging towards another soldier and slashing at her knees. She jumps back, giving Sokka the opportunity to grab his club and smash it against her arm. The scream of agony that follows makes him flinch, but he takes her incapacitation as a chance to rip of the horned helmet of his attacker and jam the sharp end of his boomerang into her windpipe.

He rears up, ready to face whoever comes next, but it takes him a second to realize that the rest of the soldiers have focused on his sister. “Need some help there?” he calls out, half-joking. Katara glares at him, not even bothering to look as spikes of ice take out three benders behind her. Sokka sighs in response and wipes the sweat from his brow, noting with mild annoyance that his face paint is starting to run.

Ever since her training with Hama, Katara had turned overly serious. Maybe all that power sort of shuts you down. His sister was clearly the most adept waterbender in all the tribes, skilled enough to bloodbend on a moonless night like this one. He understands the solemnness to a point, being in a war and all. But even he found time for a pun or some grim sarcasm, he considers, as he watches her explode the hearts of the remaining firebenders. It’s coping 101! Use jokes or fun or _something_ to deal with the stress of it all, no matter how mighty one was. But Katara is all anger, a rage that obliterates everything in her path.

Including him.

He thinks about trying to talk to her as they make their way back to the war camp, but decides against it favor of trailing a couple feet behind her. The deaths of their parents hadn’t had much of an effect on him, seeing as he’d barely been a toddler at the time. The scars it had left on Katara had been much deeper, and she’d thrown herself into perfecting her bending. He’d grown up with Bato and the other warriors and his relationship with his sister had grown distant and awkward as a result.

Attempts to rectify this rift were not going the best. The Water Confederacy’s efforts to push further into Earth Kingdom territory had offered an opportunity for them to spend some time together, a year-long campaign fighting the scattered Earth armies and securing already-taken conquests. His sister’s bloodbending certainly made fights easier in such a foreign environment, but her dedication to improvement left her relatively averse to conversation. 

Now, as the Confederacy began to target Fire Navy bases North and South, things has gotten slightly better. They’d developed a fighting dynamic, and the awkwardness had abated somewhat. Katara, however, was plainly uninterested in repairing their bond.

Reflecting on this as he trudges towards his tent, he almost decides to pay a visit to Hama. She was the person closest with Katara, on the level of being a surrogate mother. Ultimately he decided against it. Besides, he thinks, the old lady gave him the creeps in the worst way. A mild chill runs down his spine as he closes the tent behind him. Hama was an important figure for the Confederacy. She brought back the South’s waterbenders. She had been instrumental in uniting the divided tribes, as well as the aggressive expansionist policy that had pulled their people out of a century-long decline. But in person…

In person Hama felt artificial. An imperfect simulacrum of a loving grandmother. It’s like she is trying too hard. No matter the effort the old women puts into the role, Sokka never feels comfortable around her. He’s prey, and she is the polarbear-dog ready to rip him to shreds.

The warrior shudders at the thought and goes to lie on the fur that composes his sleeping bag. The mysteries of how to get past his sister’s walls remain unsolved tonight. The remains of his face paint get wiped off unceremoniously, pale streaks that stain the back of his hands. Closing his eyes, the young warrior centers himself in the present.

He is free of doubt, purposefully oblivious to the thoughts that routinely worm through his psyche. He serves his tribe, his people, his _family_. This is the motto that he has repeated for as long as he has been fighting. As long as he has been breaking bones and slitting throats and taking lives. As long as blood ran over uniforms both green and red, spilt by his hand.

Katara killed so easily. Point her at someone, call them the enemy, and their life was effectively over. Maybe there’s doubt, or even guilt, suffocating under layers of anger. Sokka has yet to see evidence of it. Was such an act supposed to come easy? He swallows heavily.

Time has not made him stupid. The Fire Nation deserves what was coming, the imperial war machine that it is. And the Earth Kingdom;s a failed state, a collapsing kingdom that has left its land up for grabs. What lingers in his mind is the scared civilians clinging to doorframes and peeking out windows. The desperate pleading for mercy before his hand takes the life of an opponent. The uncooperative villages consumed by flames. The endless march of war, all aimed towards assuring his people’s legacy.

He’ll go to sleep eventually. Tomorrow it’s going to be more of the same. And as much as he repeats his motto, the uncertainty will fester. Eventually it’s going to bubble up, spill over his carefully constructed barriers.

Sokka dreads the day he can’t convince himself that what he’s doing is right.


End file.
